Down to Earth
by Lunar Maelstrom
Summary: They were gods with power at their fingertips, supposed to protect the kingdom: but they were bored. So they decided to play a game using humans as pawns. As a punishment, they're sent to the world Below to learn the value of life.
1. Justice

**Summary:** They were gods with power at their fingertips, supposed to protect the kingdom: but they were bored. So they decided to play a game using humans as pawns. As a punishment, they're sent to the world Below to learn the value of life with the help of miniature guardians.

**Warning:** This is a very serious story. There are deaths. The characters will be quite OOC and at times very unlikeable. Fortunately, none of the SC cast are raped: not Amu, not Utau, not Rima, no, not even Tadase. Tragic pasts? They're friggin' GODS! (Understand that this is me still being fed up that so many 'serious' stories have tragic parent-deaths or main character rape.)

**Pairings:** Amuto, Rimahiko, Kutau... considering Kaiya.

**A/N:** If you're reading this because you want something light, this is not for you. I'm trying a darker style with this story. The chapters will be longer but updates will rare. This is basically a side project for when my creative juices grind to a standstill for my other ongoing fiction or if I'm in the mood. Oh, and I've basically combined elements from Norse and Roman/Greek mythology for my convenience and made up gods to suit the characters. This is fiction, I'm an atheist, I mean no disrespect to anybody's religion. Now I'll stop with this dragging author's note and let you read. Oh, and if people become too confused (I'm aware that this is kinda hard to follow) just ask me and I can PM a summary or post one up with the next chapter.

**Disclaimer:** Shugo Chara is not mine. Neither are most of the gods. Christmas isn't mine either. Oh, I thought that I was just supposed to state the complete obvious here.

* * *

**Down to Earth**

**Chapter 1: Justice****  
**

There was rebellion in Asgard, abode of the gods.

Odin, God of Wisdom, Poetry and Magic, had disappeared centuries ago in the non-death that gods suffered. To the kingdom's consternation Hermes, the former Messenger of the Gods and Protector of Travellers, Thieves and Merchants, had taken over in his stead. As gods, most of the other contenders for the throne were unhappy with the decision and, as gods, had resolved to sort things out the old-fashioned way – through war. However, the throne was protected by more than just the King's authority: nine gods, each several millennia years young, stood stoutly as the Defenders of the Throne. They fought for the kingdom and made sure that the Law was upheld.

Or they used to, a long time ago.

However, this was not the time to think of such details. Advancing quickly was a legion of unsatisfied minor gods with little authority, serving the major gods who had promised them power and glory. It did not take much to motivate a god to go to war. Gods did not die, after all, even if they could feel enough pain to black out for decades.

Opposing the army were eight figures dressed all in white. In contrast to the battle-ready, charging mass, they lounged around unworriedly at the gates of Valhalla as though it was below their dignity to acknowledge that a war was even taking place.

One of these figures was reading a book. The glasses perched on his nose complemented the sharp eyes that they framed. His dark green hair was tied up so that it would not hinder him in any way. As the attackers drew closer yelling their battle cries, he finally looked up and closed the book with a loud snap. Then, suddenly, there was no book anymore but a long sword fashioned in a style similar to the human katana.

His eyes narrowed as he hissed irritably, "She is not here yet."

One of his companions shrugged in response. "She will be here at exactly the right moment. You know she will." She sighed and sat up from where she had lain, tracing shapes in the air. Shoulder-length hair the pink of dusk fell freely around her face, highlighting the bright gold eyes that held nothing but boredom. She slowly rose to her feet and yawned before casting a dismissive glance over the army. Their load roaring irked her to no end. These weren't gods but barbarians, yelling their heads off as they lofted their weapons.

"It has been too long since our last battle. I am probably a little bit rusty," said another of their group while tightening the twin blonde pigtails at either side of her head. Her violet eyes watched the enemy eagerly, excitement carved into every line of her face. She licked her lips, lovingly fingering the silver guns hoisted at her waist. She was one of the modern gods that believed in embracing whatever harebrained machinery the humans cooked up next. She'd once giggled that humans never ran out of ways with which to kill each other.

The being beside her shot her a sceptical look. He brushed some blue locks away from his eyes, which mirrored the colour of hers. "You, sister? Impossible." He had no visible weapon. Instead, he held a bow and violin. In the face of enemies armed with swords and axes and the knowledge that there was no way they could die, it should have appeared utterly worthless. Instead, the instrument seemed to emit a power that no mere blade could match.

"There has to be over a hundred and fifty gods in there," commented one of their other companions. Unlike the others, he had wrapped a strip of khaki cloth around his head which matched his lazy olive eyes, further messing up his auburn hair and giving him a rakish appearance. A hunting knife gleamed in his hand. "How many do you think you will be able to take down?"

"Now, now, let's be fair," admonished a blond male. His hair was meticulously combed and his blood-red eyes were guarded as he took the scene in. A quiver of crimson arrows was strapped to his back. After twanging his bow he frowned as though he were discontented and reached around and cranked the bow tighter. For anybody else, god or otherwise, that would have been an impossible feat. "If there are approximately a hundred and fifty gods then that should be... how many each?"

"Sixteen to seventeen," the first one spoke absently. "Look, she's here."

The golden gates opened just enough to let one person slip through before swinging shut again. A small girl walked forward unhurriedly, her blonde curls streaming behind her and her hazel eyes blank. Her arms hung by her sides, two daggers held loosely in her hands as though she had no idea how to handle them. As she stepped into line, she felt somebody tap her shoulder. She didn't look around but answered anyway. "Yes?"

The person who had tapped her moved back, aware of the girl's dislike at being touched. "Male or female today?" he asked, his earth-coloured eyes expectant. Long, purple hair cascaded down his back in a way that was much too effeminate. His smile widened as he saw her lift two fingers, indicating the latter choice. To anybody watching, his form would have appeared to blur until his image turned into that of a, well, her. She winked and tied her hair into a ponytail, readying herself for the battle ahead.

"They're almost at us," observed the last member of their party. Her loose, chestnut hair seemed to float in waves to her upper-back and her serene, honey-coloured eyes belied the intent behind them. Soft fingers clutched a set of long needles, ready to skilfully jab them into various pressure-points. She smiled a gentle smile and held her arms up. "We can see the whites of their eyes now. Just give us the signal."

The third figure, the woman with eyes of amethyst, smiled as well; a fierce, murderous grin that would freeze a human's blood in their veins. The war had been decided before it had even begun. She was, after all, the Goddess of War and Beauty. You could not beat her at her own game. Calmly, she lifted her pistol and fired a shot that landed squarely between one of the approaching god's eyes. At his collapse, the rest of the group of nine sprang into action, glad to be able to escape the monotony that they had suffered for so long.

The blond male took aim, arrow notched and the string of the bow pulled unbelievably far back, and let go. In a streak of crimson, two gods were impaled with one shot. Both fell to their knees, blood bubbling from the corners of their mouths. He shot with the accuracy of his grandfather, although admittedly with different end results. As a descendant of Cupid, his proficiency with ranged weapons was not odd. These days, however, his arrows rarely brought love but carried out the purpose with which they had originally been made by humans; they brought harm to others. Technically, he was the God of Love although in recent years he'd been named the Crimson God or God of Blood.

A ball of light was held in the hands of the pink-haired female. The corners of her mouth were turned up even though her eyes held no mirth. In a smooth motion she brought her hands back before swinging them around gracefully, sending the flaming ball – a miniature star – through the throats of three gods and back again. The gods still standing were horrified to find that she had managed to create another ball of flaming helium in her hands to use against those that she wished to destroy. She was mostly a sailor's deity, but that didn't make her, the Goddess of Dawn and Dusk, any less forbidding an opponent. According to legend she had given birth to and moved the stars so that they could guide a sailor's path when they were out at sea.

Behind her, a god had collapsed as a hair-thin needle had been pierced through his joints and finally through his jugular vein. The brunette responsible for this stood back, withdrawing her needles with an uncomfortable _kshing!_ noise. She whipped around, using the side of her hand to chop one of the gods in the throat and kneeing him in the liver before he had time to recover from his coughing fit. As he bent over she thrust another needle into the hollow between his cranium and his spin, punching straight into the brain. He slumped to the ground helplessly as the Goddess of Health and Medicine watched and noted the lack of external bleeding.

One cause of death that did involve quite a bit of spewed blood was that of having one's throat slit, which the woman who had been late to arrive practiced. Her eyes were closed yet she dodged a blow from behind, spun and slashed her dagger into the neck of her assailant. She was almost as untouchable as the Goddess of War was during a battle. After all, she was the Seer, Keeper of the Prophecies and the Boards of Fate. She knew what move you would make before you had even begun to consider moving at all. She knew your blind spots, your weaknesses, and she knew that she would defeat you because she'd already seen how. The future itself was hers to toy with. She predicted it when a large, thorny plant burst out of the ground beside her, moving away just in time.

The purple-haired girl, who had appeared to be a man before, sat above the battlefield on a throne of vines. She commandeered the plants to wrap around different soldiers until they either fell unconscious through suffocation, pressure or blood loss. Energy ran through her as she sent more plants to erupt from the floor and feast themselves on the rebelling gods. She was the God or Goddess of Growth and Fertility, able to appear before others as either a man or a woman. Much like the God of Love and the Goddess of Health and Medicine, her original purpose had been a productive one which benefited the world. Like theirs, it had twisted around over time so that it could serve her will.

There was a movement down below. It was subtle and almost unnoticeable, as though air itself had fluttered slightly. Nearby, a god found a knife had managed to slide itself between his ribs from behind. His attacker materialised from thin air as he pulled the knife back out and readjusted his khaki headgear. He looked disappointed at the lack of excitement that this battle held. The prey here were too easy. As God of the Hunt, Games and Sport he couldn't help but reminisce about the old days when hunts were accompanied with thunderbolts and sweat and blood. He ducked as a weak fireball whooshed over his head, no doubt having been sent by one of the braver gods.

That minor god was quickly silenced by a katana. The wielder of this katana scowled as a speck of blood landed on his spectacles but ignored it as he swung the blade around and managed to slice another god in two. They would heal completely in a decade so it didn't really matter either way. As he turned around he found a sword levelled at him, the challenger looking him steadily in the eye. As they lunged forward he stepped aside rather than parried and skewered them with his katana. He was not interested in flashy swordplay and it was needless to partake in such behaviour. A God of Knowledge and Logic would never be a showman. It took him a while to notice the low note reverberating through the field but when he did he looked up and muttered, "About time."

High above the rest, the Goddess of War's brother had been content to watch as the rest of his group decimated their adversaries until he thought that it was about time for him to step in. Floating in the air, he brought the end of the violin to his shoulder and ran the bow over one of the strings in warning. It was on the next note that the atmosphere rippled from around his violin in a sonic boom. As the wave passed over the remaining gods they clamped their hands over their ears. The only ones unaffected were his eight companions. As he continued to play the ripples increased in both power and frequency, bringing the other gods to their knees and finally they fell to the ground, twitching. This was the power of the God of the Moon and of Art and Music. He continued to play for a while after the last god was defeated, only stopping as the other gods on his side started to procure headaches and threatened to kill him if he did not.

"Victorious yet again," the Goddess of War declared, sounding a trifle disappointed. Nobody could win against her in a battle; the only ones who ever came close were the other gods in their group. Two and a half millennia ago, she and the Seer fought once. The battle lasted for three centuries and was officially declared a tie. The God of the Hunt, her sparring partner, never managed to defeat her but did manage to evade her long enough for the clash to become null and void.

"You would think they'd learn by now," muttered the God of Knowledge. He held a book once more rather than a weapon.

"A god would never admit that they would lose, even to themselves," said the Seer. She surveyed the battlefield, the blood that had run down her hands disappearing. The daggers had also vanished, leaving the woman to look about as harmless as a human child.

The Goddess of Health and Medicine seated herself with a sigh as she also looked around at the result of their skirmish and said, "It will take at the very least five years for them to heal and another two decades to launch an attack."

The God of Love crossed his arms. "But it's so _boring_," he whined, his cool demeanour cracking at the prospect of even more time without any excitement at all.

The God of the Hunt's eyes brightened as he was struck by an idea. "I know a game we can play," he announced. He cast the Seer a sideways glance. "Of course, this will require your consent. It will also be going against Hermes' will."

The presently-Goddess of the Harvest shrugged unconcernedly. "If it were not for us, he would have fallen long ago. None of us can handle any more years of waiting around and listening to orders. What do you have in mind?" she asked, curious.

He waved a hand at her airily. "It's an old game," he said. When they questioned him further he refused to disclose any more information. All he did was gesture for them to follow as he opened the gates of Valhalla and slipped back through.

**-lll-**

The nine of them were seated around a huge, floating chessboard. Glass, colourless pieces were placed around the board in no discernible pattern. If someone looked very closely, they would see that the glass pieces were shaped like humans – and that the humans were moving slightly. The pieces did not notice the gods as they watched. This was a Board of Fate under the Seer's care. There were countless numbers of these stacked on invisible shelves throughout her mansion.

The God of the Hunt and Games clapped his hands together in anticipation. "The rules are simple; we each take one piece that has some relationship with one of the other pieces and try to make ours the most successful. Influence of surrounding objects and attempts to take an opponent out are also allowed. The winner will be decided in five years."

"This goes against every code concerning the Boards of Fate, you realise," said the Seer bluntly. She thought for a moment. "It does sound fun, however, so I will allow it. To be stuck in here with nothing to do for another few decades is a horrifying thought."

The God of Games smiled widely, his eyes gleaming with more excitement than any of them had felt in centuries. "Then," he said, "I choose... this one." He pointed a finger at his chosen piece. The others stared at him in astonishment.

"That one is but five years old," the Goddess of Dusk pointed out just in case the other god hadn't noticed. "In five years, he will be but ten."

His smile grew even wider as he answered, "Yes, it will be a challenge. My victory will taste the sweeter for it."

"And when you lose, you will be able to claim that you had a great handicap," sneered the Goddess of War. "Fine, then, I choose your piece's mother."

"But I don't plan on losing," he replied tranquilly.

The Goddess of the Harvest giggled. "I pick... the husband," she announced. "Ah, the family's going to be set against each other. I wonder who'll be wiped out?"

"I choose his superior," declared the God of Love, a plan formulating in his mind.

"Then I pick that man's housekeeper," said the God of Music lazily.

At this time, the Seer became slightly impatient – she wanted to start the game already. "The Goddess of Dusk will choose the husband's sister, the God of Knowledge will choose the superior's wife, the Goddess of Health will choose the mother's mother and I will choose the family's neighbor." They all sent her looks of slight exasperation.

"Why don't you tell us who is going to win anyway?" asked the God of Knowledge, shaking his head.

"Even for me, the future is unclear at times," she responded primly. She held out a hand and two dice formed in her palm. "Well, shall I start?" With their approval, she flicked her wrist and let the dice clatter onto the board.

"Let the games begin!" proclaimed the God of Games.

The pieces started to move across the board.

**-lll-**

_He wasn't sure when it first began having been, like most other five-year-old children, rather self-absorbed. It was just a pity that he was an exceptionally bright five-year-old with abnormal empathic and cognitive abilities. If he had been normal, he wouldn't have noticed it when his parents stopped calling each other pet names and started raising their voices sometimes. He wouldn't have known his father was spending more time drunk than sober. He wouldn't have found the unusual volume of the television curious and gone to investigate and then catch sight of his father hitting his mother. He wouldn't have known what was going on when he saw his mother leave with another man once his father left home to seek comfort in alcohol._

_But he did._

**-lll-**

"You are cheating," the Goddess of War accused the God of Love.

"How am I doing that?" he asked innocently.

"You've made my piece fall in love with yours – it's pathetic!" She started to moan now. "I spent all that time trying to get her to leave the husband, too. He is dragging her down."

The now God of the Harvest crossed his arms. "You fired my piece, too. All I can get him to do now is to push the wife and kid down."

"You have to admit, though, that this is more interesting, is it not?" asked the God of Games in a placating manner.

"Well, yes," agreed the Goddess of War reluctantly, "but it's still cheating."

**-lll-**

_She looked after the man's house, but that didn't mean she was stupid. She knew that the vile man had a mistress that he kept from his wife. She also knew that the man's wife had been itching to be able to break the prenuptial agreement from day one and clean him of everything he was worth. And, in her hands, she had the photographs necessary to ruin him and the other family if she wished. Blackmail and revenge had never sounded so sweet._

_Next time he would think twice about raping a housemaid._

**-lll-**

"You should all surrender now," said the God of Music smugly, "I can ruin your pieces' lives."

"Or we could simply kill her," suggested the God of Love.

**-lll-**

_She whistled as she strolled home, thinking about the letters that she'd sent. They'd contained the damning photographs that she'd taken and were now heading to the unfortunate husband of a cheating wife. If she hadn't been revelling in her delicious revenge, she would have felt sorry for the six-year-old boy of theirs. Well, if his mother was cheating on her husband then she would have to be found out sooner or later. This was justice._

_It was as she was walking by a shadowed alley that a string was slipped over her head, around her throat and pulled tight. A voice, a familiar voice, whispered in her ear that she shouldn't have stuck her nose in other people's business. He whispered that he was merely serving justice; a woman who would selfishly ruin the lives of others had no right to live herself._

_Even more than the hypocrisy, she was furious that the man who'd raped her had also managed to kill her. Struggling to breathe, she fell into darkness._

**-lll-**

"That means that I am out of the game," acknowledged the God of Music. It didn't matter much – watching was as fun as participating in the game anyhow.

The God of Love looked smug. "What was that about ruining my piece's life?"

"I still can," he pointed out. "The letters have been sent."

The Goddess of the Harvest said nothing but rolled the dice. She rolled a thirteen. Since she was not the one who had changed the reality around the dice, she gave the God of Games a reproachful look. He merely shrugged.

**-lll-**

_She'd come to visit her brilliant seven-year-old grandchild. What she'd found instead was a family about to break apart. Although on the surface it looked alright, a mother's intuition was never wrong. She was sure that her son-in-law was the cause of her family's unhappiness. That would not do at all – even more so because divorces were messy, money-wasting businesses._

_So, that night, she laced his beer with strychnine. Anybody who would harm her family would die.  
It was, after all, justice._

_It was then that she was clubbed over the head with a lead pipe, dragged to the attic and strapped in to a chair. When she opened her eyes it was to the face of her son-in-law's sister. Her gaze dropped down to the alcoholic drink in her hands and understanding dawned immediately. Her scream was muffled by her gag, to the satisfaction of the younger woman who told her that the only other soul in the house was her beloved grandson and that if she wanted her grandson to stay in one piece she had better not scream._

_The gag was removed; the bottle of beer taking its place, and the order for her to drink was given. As she took her first gulp of bitter death a movement by the doorway caught her eye. Watching them, eyes wide, was her grandson – her wonderful, talented grandson._

_It was too late. Her eyes rolled into her head as her body convulsed violently. _

**-lll-**

"Ah, my piece has been taken out," observed the Goddess of Health, sighing in disappointment. "But why did you not let my piece complete its objective before killing it? That would be two opponents with one bottle of strychnine."

"I had meant to," said the Goddess of Dusk, puzzled. "The piece moved on its own and acted immediately after discovering your piece's plan."

The God of Games beamed. "Aren't humans just so interesting?"

**-lll-**

_He hadn't spoken or made a sound for five months, instead spending most of his time staring at his bedroom wall. He didn't even react when he heard his mother giggle from their bedroom. She'd been growing bolder recently as his father had gotten more and more drunk. Now she even brought the man home – it wasn't like her son was going to tell anybody of the affair._

_He only turned his head when he heard the front door open quietly, signalling his father's return. His mother was too busy laughing to notice the sound of his staggering footsteps heading to their bedroom. When the yelling and screaming started, he curled into a ball beneath the covers of his bed, squeezing his eyes shut and holding his hands over his ears in an attempt to drown the sounds out._

_He managed to shut the sounds out of his father cracking the other man's skull open as he attacked him in a drunken rage. He didn't know that his mother had kept a gun for self-defence in a drawer of the vanity table or that she'd drawn it and fired three shots into his father's chest. He wasn't aware that his aunt had arrived on scene and had stabbed his mother for murdering her brother._

_What he did notice was the sound of their doorbell. Apparently their neighbour had called the police when they'd heard the sound of screaming and gunfire. His aunt, a deer caught in headlights, panicked and ran out the backdoor, right into the arms of several policemen._

_He didn't move from his position as they entered the house, half an hour too late. He was an orphan now. _

_So the neighbour who had filed the police report adopted him out of compassion._

**-lll-**

"It is between you and me now, as expected," the God of Games remarked. "You have the advantage, having my piece under your piece's supervision. We still have two years to go, as well."

The Seer nodded but didn't reply, seeming distracted.

It was then that they felt it: unimaginable pain resonating in their heads, the result of unadulterated fury being directed at them by none other than Hermes, their King. None of them could move a muscle, feeling as though their very minds were tearing at the edges. In a moment, they were summoned to the foot of Hermes' throne where the infuriated god was seated.

His eyes blazed as he regarded the nine beings in silence. Their breathing was harsh as they tried to recover from the excruciating pain that they had felt moments before. He watched them until he could not hold it back anymore and he started to speak, accusation present in every word.

"Are you not the nine Defenders of the Throne, to uphold the Law and fight for justice?" he asked, voice low. They nodded and this somehow managed to ignite his anger. "The custom for the Defenders of the Throne when they greet their king is to _kneel!_"

Energy washed over them, forcing the gods to drop to their knees. Doubtlessly they were all regretting the contract that they'd signed with Odin centuries ago which bound their loyalty to that of the ruler of Asgard, whosoever it may be. Without it, they could have overpowered Hermes long ago; the former Messenger God had not been the strongest of the gods, after all.

"You have disregarded the Law, ignored my will, tarnished the name of justice and caused untold misery to be suffered by a mere human boy," he said softly. This was somehow much more frightening than the rages and roars that Zeus would have performed as he thunder crashed in the background.

The God of Games shrugged and muttered, "I do not know why it is such a big deal. It is just a game. The old gods used to play it all the time."

"You are messing with human _lives_," spat Hermes.

The Goddess of War rolled her eyes – a brave action, considering the mood that he was in – and replied, "They die all the time. They kill each other all the time. There are billions of humans where they came from, and there will always be more. What is so gruesome about us having a little fun with a few of them?"

Hermes sat back in disbelief. He'd had absolutely no idea how disconnected from the human realm these gods had become. They weren't even aware that the humans were living, breathing beings with hopes and dreams and emotions and memories. Humans were nothing more than pawns to them, to be moved at will, there for entertainment. They had to reconnect... to find their human side once more.

He cleared his throat. "I, Hermes, ruler of Asgard, sentence you Below to live as humans, stripped of your power and memories until such a time as you learn empathy, sympathy, compassion, grief, guilt, morality, humility, foresight and other such emotion. Your powers and memories will only return after you have done so. You will remain Below until I, Hermes, judge you to have all fulfilled your sentences and to be rehabilitated."

They stared at him, not daring to believe their ears.

"As... humans?" the Goddess of Dusk repeated faintly. He was condemning them, who have existed for millennia, who helped shape the very Earth itself, to become humans.

"What about the rebels?" the Goddess of War spoke up. "Without us, you cannot hope to stop them all."

"Well then, we must all pray that you manage to find your way in two decades," he said. "Find the preciousness of life once more, become the gods that you used to be before thousands of years of massacres in the name of the Justice blinded you."

"It is not a massacre if they do not die," the God of Games protested.

The Goddess of War agreed, adding, "It is forward defence. If that is not foresight, then I do not know what is."

"How are we to live among humans?" asked the Goddess of Dusk, her gaze sceptical. "We embody war, the hunt, the arts that they indulge in, their health, the sky, the earth they stand upon and the future that they both dread and yearn for. How would we, who have lived longer than they could ever possibly imagine, who have created the world into what it was today, possibly be able to live among humans as humans?"

Hermes stared at her thoughtfully for a while before replying. "Are you really the same Goddess who had lit the skies with stars because you could not bear to see the lost sailors die? Are you the Goddess who insisted that humans would always need a guiding light?"

"What are you talking about?" she asked, frowning.

The God of Music chortled. "Only you, Hermes, would recall something from so long ago."

"My decision is final," Hermes said firmly. "Seeing as you've lost sight of your past selves, perhaps you will better be able to find your future selves away from the conflict and years of weariness that come with living on Asgard."

"He is planning to send us away any moment now," warned the Seer. "He will knock us unconscious with his Will and send us Below."

The God of Games looked up in alarm. "Hey, hey, can we not discuss this in further detail?" If his knees hadn't felt as though they were welded to the floor he would have backed away.

"Yes, this is rather… abrupt," said the Goddess of Health diplomatically.

His anger flared yet again. Even for gods these nine thought that they were immune to any and all punishment. If they were not sent now he knew that they would find some excuse to stay in Asgard and cause more misery to those around them.

"Think of it this way," said Hermes, "this will undoubtedly cure your boredom. Do not worry about the state of affairs you leave behind: you never mingled among the other gods much anyway. I will inform them that you are training."

"But what if being human and temporarily losing our powers weakens us?" asked the Seer.

"That's right, and we will have to come back in time to protect the kingdom. What if we are too weak and fail to defeat the enemies?" reasoned the Goddess of War.

"I highly doubt that a mere decade or so will override centuries of practice," answered Hermes dryly.

"However, if…"

"That's _enough_! Those will be your last words, these your last memories of being gods. When you wake up, you will be a human babe. You will have no preconceived notions, no way of speaking or thinking coherently." Hermes watched them struggle against the force pulling their consciousnesses under. They were the proudest beings that ever existed, even before all the fighting. How Odin managed to get them to sign a contract that debased them like this was a wonder.

As the last god slumped he let out a sigh. He knew that his council would tell him that sending them Below would be a stupid move, and possibly the last one he would make as King. Now all he could do was hope that he wouldn't have to call them up again before they'd learnt their lessons. He would put his faith in the people that they used to be. The was all that he could do now.

He paused for a moment in thought. _Perhaps they needed personal guides...?_


	2. Pain

**A/N:** I'd actually written this chapter ages ago, but I told myself that I wouldn't post it until I finished the next chapter for Eight Powers... Which I finally have! Thank _gods_. Also, the game with the dice? I will say nothing but that they are gods and human rules don't matter to them.

* * *

**Chapter 2: Pain**

_She, monster._

Preconceptions are learned from others. The idea of good and evil, love and hatred, villains and heroes – these are all things that are taught. During their childhood, when these preconceptions are not yet firmly fixed in their beliefs, people can often perceive things that they would not be able to as an adult. Rather than the reality formed by their understanding of the world, they saw the simple truth.

When children looked at her, they saw a monster.

The adults laugh it off easily, marvelling at the wonderful imagination that all children encompassed and feeling slight pity for the target. Any rational adult would be able to tell that monsters did not exist. All there was, was people, although privately they would concede that, really, people were the real monsters.

Despite all their claims to the contrary, however, the adults subconsciously made sure to keep their distance from her. It was almost as if an incorporeal wall surrounded her – she could walk through a packed crowd and arrive at the other side without having even been touched.

Whenever asked about her, the adults would insist that she was a nice enough girl; a bit quiet, maybe, and her appearance was… Well, she was born with yellow eyes, could you believe it? Bright yellow, like golden suns. Her hair was naturally pink, too. Oh, she looked almost as though she'd been painted into existence, she was such a picture. And she always had this look on her face, as though…

They would grow quiet at this point, leaving the sentence hanging in the air. _As though you were something vaguely interesting, like how small children sometimes looked when they stared at bugs right before plucking all of its legs off. Something that, if she ever felt the need to, she could squish on a whim._ They'd never admit this out loud, fearing that they would sound ludicrous. How could they be scared of a mere child?

And still, there was the uneasiness in the children whenever she was nearby; some of them had told their parents that they sometimes overheard her talking to thin air. The adults would laugh nervously and blame it on the imaginations of their children and the girl's lack of friends. After all, if she had no friends who would talk to her it shouldn't be so surprising for her to start _imagining_ she had friends. One child had also insisted that she'd once spent her afternoon slowly flattening ants one by one, until her hands had been stained with the pungent smell of their blood. Well, they reasoned, all children were bloodthirsty creatures at five years old. Ordinary children stomped on ants, chased pigeons, threw rocks at cats or tried to set lizards alight on a daily basis.

There was just something… not _wrong_, exactly, but… _something_ about that particular child that wasn't quite right. Sometimes, when they were tired, a voice would whisper a word - _monster_ - in their minds as she passed.

Monster. A cruel word. But monsters couldn't possibly be real and even if there was the slightest chance they were, that little girl couldn't be one, surely?

This is what the adults told themselves and their children. Always there, however, was that whisper that they could not suppress no matter how hard they tried. _Monster_.

**-lll-**

Amu Hinamori yawned as she walked to school. She'd woken before the crack of dawn that morning and had watched as the sun made its way over the horizon. For some reason, she felt the safest at dawn, and at dusk. Free. Away from the people who'd once called her a monster but had exchanged the word for another: _loser_. Away from the rumours that claimed she was crazy, away from the uneasy glances that she attracted merely by breathing. There was something... cleansing about the rise and fall of the sun, the gradual change of the sky from a velvety black to an azure blue and back again. No matter what happened, night and day would continually chase each other around the globe.

"Amu," called a tiny, floating creature that went by the name of Ran. The creature, humanoid and apparently female, had first appeared before her when she was four years old where she claimed to be one of Amu's 'Guardian Characters'. It had made perfect sense to her as a child. When she had grown older and realised that nobody else had floating figures to converse with, she'd asked the little Guardian why not. Ran had replied that she was 'special'. Now, Amu wondered constantly whether her Guardian Characters were some delusion she had come up with as a child and kept as a teenager to keep herself from succumbing to the thought that she really was insane.

"Amu," Ran repeated, "why don't you try making some friends today?" Ran was really a little pink ball of cheerful excitement. Pink hair, pink eyes, tiny pink clothing and sometimes, whenever she thought that Amu needed 'cheering up', pink pompons.

Amu looked at Ran blankly, as though she didn't understand the request. She'd always viewed others as something... lesser, even her parents. It wasn't something that could be explained in words. There were times when she stood still in a busy street and watched faces blur together as people hurried by, not enough _time_ to live. They were always busy, working, making their way up, pouring years into making themselves marginally more successful than they otherwise would have been – and for what? A house, a spouse, and children who would only grow up to repeat their mistakes. The wheel turns round and round and humanity reminded her of an ant colony where money is the queen.

"You're sixteen, you know? It's not healthy to keep pushing people away like this." Ran looked concerned. All these years and there was still not one person who had even come close to penetrating that shield of hers: not her parents, her little sister, not even the Charas themselves. An ordinary human would have suffocated, drowned in despair at the barrenness that such a life had to offer.

"I don't push people away," said Amu. This was true. They avoided her, moved around her while barely registering their actions. Even if their minds would not accept it, they felt that she was different, dangerous, _monster, monster, monster_. And when she looked at them she thought of ants, scurrying back and forth and so easy to flatten to the ground, leaving nothing but a smear and the tang of blood.

Ran sighed. "I think this is going to require Miki's touch," she said. In a moment she disappeared, replaced by a blue-haired 'Chara' with blue eyes and blue clothing. They had explained before that only one of her three Charas could be present at a time.

"Amu," she said by way of greeting. Miki was perhaps more sensible than the other Charas, quieter, more thoughtful, more understanding.

Amu glanced up but remained silent as she stepped into school grounds. They were deserted. She calmly checked her watch and discovered that she was over an hour early. Somehow, she'd never managed to keep track of time very well, as though it were something that she wasn't really a part of. She always came to school early or late or didn't arrive at all, sometimes turning up over the weekends. Her erratic attendance worried her parents. Quite a bit about her worried her parents.

"Just try to talk to somebody today," said Miki. They'd had this conversation before and at first Amu had attempted to comply. Fear and unease caused others to lash out at her, shattering any hope for striking up a friendship. Nevertheless the Chara still tried, for they had been given a mission and time was running out.

Amu didn't reply; she never did. Instead, she lay down on the grass and stared up into an endlessly wide, blue sky. She could lie there for hours on end, endeavouring to look past the veil and see the stars that she knew burned beyond it. Miki decided that it would be wiser and possibly more productive to remain silent rather than attempt to prompt the girl to do anything. So, she settled down and listened for the school bell to signal the start of the day, at which time she would have to convince Amu to attend classes.

**-lll-**

_He, constant and changing._

There were times when he felt the growth of plants in his bones, felt their roots inching deeper into soil and their leaves reach for the sky. These times mostly occurred while he was drifting in a state between sleep and waking, when dreams were as solid as reality and energy seemed to thrum in his veins. Upon waking he always felt winded, as though he'd almost, _almost_ achieved something that he yearned for with his entire being, only to be kicked back down.

This feeling, one of loss and failure was one of the few constants in his life. It was one of two things that could pin him down, anchor him to the rest of the world. He was continuously in danger of slipping away from reality, of forgetting the where and how and what, only asking _why_. _Why, why, why_, and soon even that was forgotten and he would wander around as though in a dream, the world surreal around him, drained of colour and meaning. Only one thing could penetrate the numbness, the loss of will, the slight urge to see if he could walk in front of a bus and colour his world again, even if it was only in the colour of his blood.

_They'd attacked him first, not that he took any notice of this as he pounded their flesh. _

Did he exist?

_He didn't stop, seeming only to grow increasingly desperate and frustrated as his attacks continued_.

Was he alive?

_Their horrified cries rang in his ears, and he heard a bone crack and a scream of pain. _

Did-_was-_he-_alive-_exist?

_Yes. He was alive. The pain in his arm, the stinging scratch on his face proved it. He existed and he was part of the world. The pain he was inflicting upon those stupid, stupid humans proved it. He was here and this was reality._

And then the foster-parents discovered his actions and quickly passed him on, like a soiled piece of clothing or a faulty toy. On and on, from one hand to another he was welcomed into different houses and cast away when found wanting. Everything stayed the same including that feeling of loss and failure, of being not only unnecessary but a hindrance. He was not wanted, and he had no desire to be wanted by the pitiful beings around him who felt as though they were _important_ and could make a difference when in one pathetic moment, their lives could end with only a handful of humans aware that one of their own had passed away.

_Get out, get out!_

There is only one way that someone may confirm their existence, and that is through pain. How else could they prove it, mark their place in the world? _I am here, I can feel, I am human_. Although what kind of person wanted to be part of such a deplorable and bloodthirsty race escaped him.

_Get out, purple-haired freak!_

Sometimes he thought he saw plants arch towards him as he walked past, reaching for him as though he were the sun. Perhaps he'd gone mad some time ago. _Pain, loss, failure_. He didn't even have the constant of change. No matter what happened, where he went or what kind of people his fosters were, things always stayed the same.

_Get out!_ – You're always welcome here. – _Leave. Now!_ – You're part of the family-_We will not tolerate this kind of_-We care about-_We show you nothing but kindness and you_-We'll work togeth-_Get out, get out, get OUT!_

Round and round and round he goes – where he stops, nobody knows.

**-lll-**

_They had grown no better during their years on Earth – rather, they'd grown even more perverse as the inhabitants had turned against them. It was no use trying to completely rid them of their powers: to do so was like wiping them from existence completely. Their souls were entwined with their abilities, and their abilities with their memory. All he could do was keep them under lock and key and still it slipped out in one form or another._

_You could not hide gods simply by giving them human bodies. And humans are afraid of those that are different, and when humans are afraid they lash out. Sending them to Earth was not working. They had not yet seen humanity's redeeming qualities, only the ugly faces of people trying to replace fear with hatred. They had no more time. The Guardians were not making much headway; gods had never been easy to deal with, especially these ones. They had only ever been able to be swayed by each other._

_Hermes sighed. The rebels were stirring up trouble, carrying out skirmishes on the outskirts of Asgard while they waited for the rest of their number to recover from their last battle. He had to interfere. The kingdom rested on the ability of those nine gods to understand anything but war._

_They only ever listened to each other, if they listened at all._

**-lll-**

Another school, another class, another teacher; all of which he'd have to leave behind sooner rather than later as the new fosters grew tired of his behaviour and sent him away. There would be no point in trying to remember names or faces if they were to become nothing more than part of the blur that was his entire school life. No matter how many schools he went to, teachers would always be teachers and students, students.

"Class, we have a new student here today. Why don't you introduce yourself?" she asked, smiling encouragingly while her eyes remained stone-cold. The teachers would have been briefed of his past record. _All things stay the same_. He gazed back at her, eyes slightly glassy as though he looked through her and didn't quite see her at all...

He turned to face the class, ready to quote his usual opening speech as something caught his eye. In the back corner a girl stared at her desk, a faraway expression on her face. His voice died in his throat as something that shouldn't exist tried to wriggle up from the depths of his memory. He recognised her, even though he didn't – _shouldn't_.

Something prompted her to look up and she saw him. She felt it too, he knew, from the widening of her eyes in shock and her confusion following straight after that. It felt as though she was the only _real_ person he'd met in his life, as though she were the only one in colour others trudged through the world in black and white. There was a pang of what felt like yearning, if only he knew what to yearn for.

His mind, under more stress and confusion than it had ever experienced before, acted on autopilot. "Good morning, I'm Nagihiko Fujisaki and I'm not gay or any kind of a trans, thank you," he heard himself say distantly.

The class gaped at him but he was too busy to notice the thoughts and reactions of unimportant humans. This was a change, an honest change, a disruption in the constants of his world. Someone like him, in some sense, existed in this god-forsaken world. He was more certain of this fact than he had ever been of anything else in his life.

_Someone like him_. What did that mean? _Someone like him. Someone... not quite human._

**-lll-**

_He, loved._

He lived in a fake world. This he knew, although how and why were two questions that he could not answer.

Everybody loved him. They were entranced by his charm and the soft aura which surrounded him at all times and made the world seem rosy and so simplistic. Even his eyes – rubies, they called them sometimes, and he wondered whether they realised that they did so because they were hard and cold – enchanted them for the simple reason that they were his.

He had everything that he could want. One smile, one gesture, one look and he could get anybody to fall over themselves as they hurried to comply with his every whim. People gladly offered money, toys and their hearts to him and would be forever grateful to him if he kicked them in the face as a reward. He received full marks in every test and assignment because his teachers could not bear to mark him wrong and sometimes re-wrote the test just for him. Other students failed so that he could come out on top and they loved him for it.

Love surrounded him like a red mist, intangible and obscuring what would otherwise have been right before his eyes. It filled his sight, his world: he lived it, breathed it, and hid in it. Yet no matter how much he immersed himself in the red mists of love and adoration, he could not feel it. Always he tried to catch the feeling and yet it always escaped him, remaining insubstantial, something that he could see and couldn't know; something within his reach but that he could not grasp.

Other people, the mindless sheep that surrounded him, could feel it, express it purely and sincerely. They showered it carelessly, as though it was worthless when it should be treasured – when _he_ could come no closer to it than watching others shamelessly waste it. He was... not envious. He would have been quite _enraged_ if it were possible. Why could he not feel what was supposedly the greatest sensation that humans could feel? Why, when others seemed to be a bottomless pit of 'love' could he not conjure up even a sliver of affection? Not for his classmates, his family, nor even for himself. Every time somebody announced their love to him, they salted an already seething wound. He wanted to feel _something_ and he wasn't even asking for love anymore. He wanted to be able to _feel_ so that he could prove to himself that he was not a walking doll, an empty shell with no heart but a mere muscle which thumped blood throughout his body.

So he crushed them, everybody that approached him with love in their eyes and their hearts in their hands. He humiliated them all, ripped that wretched emotion from them and stomped it to the ground. He pushed them away with all his might in an attempt to feel guilt, hatred, anger, loneliness, _anything_ because he needed to know that he wasn't broken, that he hadn't been born with something not screwed on correctly.

And yet, no matter how he abased them, laughed at their sorrows, they still crawled back to him, ready to offer up their hearts once more. Sometimes he wondered if the cold clench in his gut whenever someone approached was a feeling of fear or hatred: fear that no matter what he did he would not be able to fulfil his one wish, or hatred for the weak fools who continued to offer him something that he could not take. But these were things that had been with him for as long as he could remember and what he now wanted to feel was something that he inflicted upon others.

Pain.

Not physical pain, something that he could find merely by striking a wall with his fist. What he wanted... no, _needed_ now was emotional torture, for he knew that a creature like him did not deserve to feel love, something so pure and warm. It was not fair that he could cause such suffering in those around him and not feel anything himself, not even guilt, only a moderate sensation that he _should_ be feeling guilty.

He didn't know why, but no matter how he lashed out, how despicable he became, everybody still loved him. And he knew, _knew_ that it was fake, that everything in his entire life was a charade.

He had everything that he could want but he wanted nothing, save the one thing he could not have.

**-lll-**

_She, perfectly happy._

Most spared her no more than a casual first glance. She seemed neither strikingly beautiful nor hideously ugly. She wore nothing too outlandish or too conservative and had no distinguishing features other than the fact that her hair was tied in childish pigtails. Her clothes were worn in a tidy manner – she was neither sloppy nor too careful with her attire, her nails trimmed but not perfect. At first glance, she was ordinary. Nothing more, nothing less.

Those who managed a second glance noted that her chestnut hair shone in the light and bounced as she walked, that her steps were light and that a ready smile always played about her lips. She exuded a carefree confidence that only those unburdened with grief or sorrow could show. Her laughs were invigorating, purging others of their weariness and stress as she skipped down a street. She was a balance, ordinary and yet much more. To those who looked twice, she was stunning.

And yet, there were those rare few who had a chance to speak face-to-face with this normal but beautiful girl. They would notice that, though her smiles had seemed bright, they were as bright and smooth and hard as plastic: a smile that never reached her dull, blank eyes, a smile that brought to mind an image of a doll. This close, they could hear her humming to herself, repeating one hauntingly familiar tune over and over. They would notice that she would stare with blank fascination at those who would speak to her without her first granting them permission.

These people, the ones that came in direct contact with her, thought that she was frightening.

She was all of these, and none of them. Stripped to her core, she was merely somebody who desired never to feel pain or sorrow. She was a person who wished only to enjoy the bright side of life; she wanted to experience only happy moments, eat only sweet things, walk the easy path in life and feel only joy and love and freedom. Much like most other humans the world over, she wanted to lock everything bad, everything bitter, every hardship outside her own little universe.

There was only one difference between her and an ordinary teenage girl which was that she knew she could accomplish this goal. Not once had she ever questioned this unshakeable knowledge, one that had taken root in her very soul. _She did not have to get hurt if she didn't want to_. And this had only been proven absolutely true in her years alive as a human.

Not once had she ever fallen ill or accidentally injured herself. Not once had she ever been rejected by somebody close to her – not a great feat as the only ones close to her were her doting parents. They were infatuated with their precious daughter, the _only_ child that they would ever have, no matter that they were not blood-related. She was their hope, the apple of their eye, a gift from above bestowed upon the barren woman and her husband. How could the couple, grieving from their first and last miscarriage, not accept such fortune?

She was a child sent by God and should be treated as such. Whatever she wished, this was granted. She stayed home during wet weather, ate nothing but candy, and received all the latest in technology and toys so as to satisfy her comfort. Always, she was showered with attention. And still, despite unwholesome habits all around, she remained in optimal physical, mental and emotional health.

She lived in a world full of light. So full of light, in fact, that there were no shadows, no colour, just a sheet of white. Her life was a shallow one. Having never felt sorrow, she could never truly appreciate 'happiness' for she had nothing to compare it to. All that the lack of pain had granted in her life was a lack of empathy, sympathy, guilt or anything other than the hollow void that swirled underneath the thin veneer of happiness she knew she was supposed to feel.

In a world of white, she'd become blind to anything else.

Still, she made sure not to experience anything else, made sure not even to prick her finger. Lacking any real understanding she clung to the knowledge that being unhappy, even for a moment, was unnecessary and detrimental to the value of her life. She fooled herself into believing that she was happy, not having any evidence to the contrary. She couldn't grasp that true bliss was made of colours and shadows that overlaid one another in a kaleidoscope of feeling.

She was happy, _of course_. How could she be anything else? She believed the lie, too - believed it with a worrying intensity that was the closest she could ever have gotten to passion.

**-lll-**

It was a fine day when they first met.

He'd been surrounded by lovesick fools, taunting him once again with their casual claims of affection and various gifts of chocolate. He had done what he'd always done in these situations – he'd thrown their offering onto the road for a passing car to crush. He'd ordered her to kneel, beg, roll on the ground and would have felt disgusted that she'd complied, if he'd been capable of it.

His Guardian Character, a haughty, violet-haired boy in the garbs of a king who had introduced himself as Kiseki when they'd first met, protested that a good king looked after his peasants. This was ignored, as was always the case, and he looked on with a pained expression.

On the other side of the street, she'd had a lollipop in her mouth, unable to savour the sweet taste as she knew no other. Her parents had been following her, hauling bags full of absolutely anything and everything that had caught her eye. Then she'd spied the box of chocolate on the road and, secure in the knowledge that she was untouchable, strolled in front of a moving car to pick it up.

The oncoming vehicles swerved violently, crashing into various shops in an effort to avoid hitting the teenage girl who was absently inspecting the confectionary she'd found. Alarms blared, people screamed and the girl still seemed not to notice the commotion at all or perhaps just didn't care.

Her Chara, a miniature girl called Pepe who was dressed like an infant complete with dummy in her mouth, had barely had time to cry out. She looked at the devastation her charge had caused and wondered, through the welling anger, whether the goddess-turned-human could even be helped.

When the girl finally deigned to look up from her newest acquisition, she caught sight of him in the same moment that he saw her. As their gazes locked they felt a spark, a crackle of realisation, recognition.

She ignored the chaos around them and her parents' frantic calls and walked the remaining distance across the road, chocolates clutched in her hand. There was no hesitation in her steps, none of the confused bumbling a normal teenage girl would feel when confronted with a handsome teenage boy. She could feel a... kinship, of a sort. For the first time that she could remember, she could see somebody as more than a means to an end.

"I'm Yaya Yuiki," she said bluntly when she reached him. The girls that still surrounded him, only the slightest bit affected by the fact that ambulances were arriving on the scene to take the numerous injured to hospital, hissed at her for daring to speak to him in such a manner. She didn't pay them any attention, staring at the hovering figure beside the boy's head.

He nodded slowly. "Tadase Hotori," he said by way of answer. He was surprised that she wasn't grovelling at his feet. Surprised, and dimly pleased. It was something different, something _real_. She was a breath of fresh air in the red mists that had always surrounded him. It was then that he caught sight of her Chara, rushing after her with tears of frustration in her eyes.

There was a civilians watching them from a distance. Initially he'd wanted to either make sure that the young lady who had suddenly stepped onto a busy road was alright and to scold her, but something gave him pause. Perhaps it was the way that the two children had begun conversing as though there was not a thing out of place in the world. Or it may have been a cold sensation that told him that going near the duo was much more dangerous than he could ever imagine. He told himself that they were only children but the hammering of his heart and the cold sweat running down his back would not stop.

The teenagers that were somehow so much _older_ locked gazes once more, recognising in each other the bright, cold eyes they saw reflected in the mirror every day of their lives. They'd found a kindred spirit, in more ways than one.

On that fine day, surrounded by fear and blaring sounds and the cries of the injured, they took their first step to reclaiming what had been lost over a decade before.


End file.
